


The Negotiation of Lineage

by slightlyjillian



Series: The Negotiation Of Lineage [1]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-25
Updated: 2010-06-25
Packaged: 2017-10-10 06:45:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/96781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlyjillian/pseuds/slightlyjillian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fantasy AU. A long unanswered question holds the future of their divided nation in its reply.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Negotiation of Lineage

He drank the warmed beverage too quickly. The burn in his throat started another shimmer along his vision. Adjusting his hood, he knew that hiding his face made him stand out all the more. The waitress didn't come by to ask how he was after setting down his bowl from the community soup indicating a good aura of stench from his evasive dive into the mud of a pooling ditch should keep the curious at a distance.

Eventually, he'd have to get cleaned in order to enter the city. He wasn't exactly sure how he'd manage that piece of magic. The Schbeiker family and their kin weren't allowed inside the Northern walls any longer. Telling the truth wouldn't get him one step closer to his goal.

If only he hadn't given her his damned word! And what little value that held he would honor for her.

He finished the soup and pushed the bowl away.

That wasn't fair. Even if his family had been cast out for being disloyal, he held fast to the truth. The Schbeikers had _always_ been loyal. He'd carry the message if he had to carve it on his flesh for Heero Yuy to find on a corpse.

Then he heard his Lady's voice as clearly as if she sat next to him. Whispered into his ear, the words were, "Meet your mark, but go around about it."

The indirect approach? It went against every fiber of Tomas Nichol's nature, but so had living in the fields. And he'd adjusted.

He'd have to learn how to smile and hold a knife behind his back.

^^^

Nichol could see the capital city in the distance. The wall was still far off, but he quickly approached the first outlying houses. The first opportunity for unfortunate questions.

His relative anonymity finally decided Nichol's part in their desperate gambit. That slight advantage might allow him to travel unhindered. His parents had been early victims of the power exchange leaving the Peacecrafts, he spit on the king's road, in control of the nation. During the time when the roles of heroes and villains were arbitrarily bestowed upon the scattered nobles, Tomas Nichol had lost his properties and essential became a pointless, unaffiliated noble. Until Treize Kushrenada had pulled him from the refugees and assigned the hapless youth to be assistant and body guard to Lady Une.

He preferred to work alone and somehow Treize had known the best way to utilize the surly young man. Later, Hilde had put his name into the Schbeiker lineage, not blood but recognized by all as family.

Not that he'd been able to do them any good. Even now. As he fisted the front of his robes, Nichol glanced to the side. Shepherds and cow herders stood by the well, drinking from their glasses and laughing at a shared joke. If they looked his direction, they indicated no alarm.

Willing his fingers to relax, Nichol continued to the west gate. It was the smallest of the possible passageways, still he doubted that it was any less guarded than the others. But it put him closest to Heero Yuy's holdings. Nichol didn't want to spend one more minute unprotected in the city than he had to.

A nearby cow gave a loud, sustained sound. It's dark eyes followed Nichol with a liquid warmth.

He shivered against an unfelt breeze.

^^^

Maganac men kept position at the gate. Their casual sweep of the inbound bodies was anything but relaxed. Nichol watched them inspect papers and cargo. He'd made sure to have nothing but his belongings and a small knife that could be used for eating or personal defense. Their resources had indicated that as much was still allowed in the city.

"Really, Abdul?" The person directly in front of Nichol protested. The raised voices made his palms sweat, so he rubbed them along his hips.

"Sweet gods, Maxwell, you know that we have to ask for papers from everyone." The man called Abdul lifted a dark visor while shaking his head at the trader. "You could have something illegal smuggled in your cart."

"This isn't right. I'm a hero in these walls. They wanted to build me a temple the last time I was in this place. God of Death, to be exact, so you'd be praying to me along with those other _sweet gods_ you're always going on about..."

Abdul's smile slipped somewhat. "It might not be convenient, but if you have what you need some where else, fetch it."

"Is there a problem?" A taller man, Nichol fought to keep his eyes from staring up and up, approached them. He wore an elaborate vest that would never have closed over his broad, muscular chest.

"Rashid!" Maxwell seemed to know these men well enough. Nichol worried about his own chances.

"Master Maxwell," the big man's voice boomed through a smile as wide as his shoulders. "We don't see you often enough in these parts."

"He doesn't have the papers for his wares," Abdul explained, cautious now. The delayed stillness of the line allowed the pests and bugs to swarm up around their ankles. Nichol could feel them along the edges of his boots and wrists. He rubbed at the unseen nuisance.

"I'll vouch for him."

Nichol swung his head around the cart to see that Rashid had not approached alone. A tall, blonde woman in a fine blue dress also stood under the gate. He didn't recognize her, but wondered if her proximity to the Maganac and her hair color connected her to the Winner family. That household had claimed to be advancing a new pathway to peace, a bitter concept when Nichol thought about those living outside of the Winners' supposed pathway.

"Dorothy." Maxwell jumped down from his horse and bowed toward the lady. "I believe customs indicate a noble name earns my passage inside as well as any papers?"

Abdul crossed his arms, refrained from a verbal response and nodded once, quick and reluctant.

Leading his horse and the reigns of the mule pulling the cart of goods, Maxwell maneuvered through the gap in the stone wall. Guards from above, once interested in the activity below, continued walking the top of the wall.

Nichol carefully searched for his papers. The distraction had kept him from immediately having his prepared documents. It was time to test the quality of Romafellar's scribe.

"I'll vouch for him too," Dorothy spoke again.

While Nichol stared, she made her way to him and took his still empty hand.

"Don't act as if it's been so long, friend," she spoke loudly enough to be heard by all around. "Although, you are the best sort of surprise. I suppose it has been as long as all that."

"This one too?" Abdul threw back his head and laughed away his frustration.

"I have papers," Nichol muttered. He started to take his hand back and his cloak fell open so he could see the edge of the paperwork in his belt.

"Yes." Abdul shook his head, still smiling. "Move along."

Dorothy led Nichol into the city, passing Abdul as he complained to Rashid about some men becoming too lax with their shifts.

"Lady." Nichol untangled his fingers from hers as soon as they were away from the eyes of the Maganac. "You must have mistaken me for someone else." Then catching her annoyed expression, he hastily added, "Not that I don't appreciate your vouching for me."

"Fool," she commented. Then moving faster than he could react, she snatched at the corner of paper at his waist. She unfolded it, turned away from him and scanned the document.

"May I have my papers back?" Nichol tried to reach around her.

She turned and made a _tsking_ noise with her tongue. "It's better than I feared. Anyone less than Abdul would have let you carry on, but not him."

"What gives me away?" Nichol whispered. The sounds around them, the chatter of voices and the distant thumping of some industry shop, pushed farther and farther away under the silence of terror.

"Your real name is Tomas Nichol," she replied. "Once your parents swore allegiance to my grandfather. You may not be a direct line to care about genealogy, but I was educated to remember names and faces. The Peacecraft family has been careful to extend this information to their networks of spies."

Nichol relaxed somewhat. How could a relative of Romafellar live in the Peacecraft kingdom? He said, "I don't understand."

"The lineage on your paperwork skips a generation to cross into a loyal family. A false marriage would have been spotted immediately. Dull to know, but useful to catch forgers."

"Might be that I was from a bastard," Nichol argued. He was tired and hot. He needed to find his way to Heero Yuy. And if she was right, he'd been seconds away from capture.

She didn't reply right away, but returned the folded paper. "You may get through the streets alone, but it'd be better if you came along with me."

"Why should I trust you?" Nichol knew his protests were as ineffective as when his child-sized hands had tried to put out the flames that burned the bodies of his parents. The place brought more memories to his foremost thoughts. He shook his head. He needed to concentrate. Hilde had sent him because she trusted Nichol. She put her faith in him.

He matched Dorothy's footsteps as they moved away from the shops and the colorful merchandise set out for trade.

"Thank you," he said.

^^^

Dorothy did live in the Winners' keep. She did not, however, stop to great any of the other blonde women managing the household responsibilities. The children that briefly chased after the stranger in their midst were just as quickly called back to their mothers. Nichol noted with interest that eyes turned away from Dorothy, although the woman clearly had her freedom of the place.

Inside the main doorway was an open staircase that led them to an empty dining hall. Almost empty. A figure of a man sat at the far end of one of the tables. Papers were stacked around a row of open inkwells. The feather of a pen whipped across a page just as quickly as the man could write.

"Quatre, we need to talk."

Nichol's feet stopped. _Quatre Winner_ had been the decisive strategist during the last battles. He'd guaranteed the end of OZ. Rumors were that he was a friend to Heero Yuy, but Nichol feared that relationship meant little to the well being a low-ranked soldier.

"I didn't bring you here just to get you killed," Dorothy quietly told him. Her kindness surprised him again.

"Dorothy!" The man, as blond as anyone in his family, stood and nearly ran the length of the room to embrace the slender woman as if he hadn't seen her in decades.

"I'm surprised you even noticed I was gone," Dorothy chuckled, teasing in her tone. "Are we observed?"

"Just by your friend." Quatre glanced at Nichol with curious appraisal. "I'd daresay he's traveled a very dangerous path and far."

"Yes, sir." Nichol steeled himself to bow to his superior as decorum dictated but found himself being held up by the unexpected embrace of the wealthy noble.

"May I have your name? Or rather _don't_ give me your name," Quatre retracted. Pushing Nichol at arm's length, Quatre's grin seemed genuine if puzzled. "What brings you here?"

"News from Lord Treize?" Dorothy asked. She seemed amused and familiar with Quatre's affections.

Nichol flinched, and Quatre released his shoulders immediately. "I didn't realize..." Nichol looked around the hall. He didn't linger on the banners or the candles allowing what little light they had afforded to them. He couldn't see them as the duration of his journey caught up with him then. The room seemed to spin.

"What is it?" Quatre repeated, more quietly.

"Tell us as friends. What bad news?" Dorothy stepped closer looking between them.

Nichol's throat made an unexpected sound. They had no idea. No concept of what life had become like in the south. Unless they were better actors than he, which was certainly possible, but the concern in Quatre's blue eyes shimmered with compassion already. The blond man understood without Nichol having to speak a word.

"The southern state has become a death trap," Nichol managed to push past his tense jaw and tight teeth. "Treize is gone from us. And Lady Une..." The scar from the wound across his heart might as well have been torn open again. "She probably did not survive during the days of my trip here. But," he spoke over the interjections of his audience. "I must see Heero Yuy."

"Heero?" Dorothy said, surprised.

"Is that wise?" Quatre frowned. He shifted his weight as if balancing the new information to what he already knew. The man was a genius from all accounts. Even in the OZ barracks, they continually reviewed, studied and taught the tactics of this person.

"I have my message," Nichol insisted. "It's meant for Heero Yuy."

Quatre raised his brows and glanced at Dorothy. "If that's why you came," Quatre nodded. "We'll need to bring him to you."

"If that's reasonable?" Nichol wondered if he would reach a limit to trusting in their help.

"You certainly won't get to see him," Dorothy chuckled, low and bitter. "He's the sworn first knight."

Nichol didn't understand the intensity of her unfocused glare. "Meaning?"

Quatre's attempt to smile faltered then flickered out completely. "He's the direct guardian of Relena Peacecraft."

^^^

Dorothy had taken Nichol to an empty room in the same hallway as Quatre's sleeping chambers. The only male heir, Quatre had been able to promise safety and seclusion. Although, Quatre also insisted that his sisters had agendas of their own, made unconcerned with old politics or former conflicts.

"I suppose you don't remember me," she said, putting her hand to balance against the door frame.

Nichol dropped his few belongings onto the bed and glanced around the luxurious furniture before turning to look at her again. She'd let him look at her a while before returning his stare with a challenge to his memory.

"No," he began.

She snorted quietly, "Of course not, _Tomas_. You always wanted to play with my cousins when we were children. And where my relatives avoided me, a girl, they took a great interest in your low-born self."

Nichol did remember that. "If by interest you mean _pleasure in tormenting_..."

"So you can see that far back," she laughed. "I thought the war may have damaged you somewhat in the head."

"Catalonia..." Nichol murmured, the name seeming right but not familiar. "What are you to the Winner family?"

"Nothing, by blood," she answered. "Are you hungry?" He nodded and she summoned a nearby servant to bring a sample of whatever was already prepared for the next meal.

She then went into the room to open the curtains and Nichol sat down. His feet ached and he knew that walking any further on them would be more painful after the rest. But he stretched his legs and relaxed into the cushions. His fingers traced the intricate patterns feeling the rise of the stitches.

Eventually she would explain herself. Nichol could see into her quiet and knew she had to decide what to say about herself. He had a similar trouble. Not lord nor common born. Not honored or quite dishonored. He blushed frequently at what others might say about him. Chief among those Hilde and her enthusiastic storytelling when he'd first heard about his own somewhat heroic stupidity. But even that account changed depending on who narrated the tale. His scarring skin itched, stuck to his undershirt by sweat.

Dorothy sat in the next seat and said, "For a time, I had his attention. Treize, I mean. He sent me to work with Zechs Marquis, who used my knowledge of battle strategies to turn the battle to our favor," she faltered, hearing her own error. She continued without making the correction. "Of course, Milliardo Peacecraft had a great advantage knowing the tactics of his enemy."

Nichol knew about that particular treachery. The declaration of the Peacecraft family to assume the kingdom as theirs due to some long ago relatives. Without the Noventas, without Treize--who then had to meet his best friend on the battlefield as a foe--the kingdom succumbed to the Peacecrafts. Even though the revolt had originated in far away colonies and lost its original meaning in the bloodshed.

"Then you found yourself as a friend of your true enemy." Nichol could imagine the surprise. Dorothy's own efforts to support her cousin had torn them apart. "I wonder if he knew that would happen."

Dorothy didn't ask who _he_ was. Instead she spoke, "I don't intentionally put a knife in anyone's back. I'd rather laugh in the face of my enemy..."

Nichol turned to look at her and asked wearily, "Who is your enemy?"

When she didn't answer, Nichol answered with a low grumble, "It's either no one or all of them."

^^^

The servant had brought enough food that Nichol and Dorothy let chewing keep them company while the fireplace dimmed and the cooler breeze of the evening cut through the atmosphere. A short knock at the door was Quatre himself, who led them into his own rooms.

Nichol only had a moment to take in the vast room with artifacts and decorations from foreign colonies when he realized he was caught in the dark gaze of Heero Yuy. They'd called him the perfect soldier during the war. Even in the warm firelight and golden glow of Quatre's collection, Heero's stare contained nothing but cold, emotionless blue.

"You brought a message from the south?" Heero asked, a slight emphasis on _you_ indicating the limits included in Heero's assessment of Nichol.

Bitter that when considered Nichol came up lacking, he gave a rueful reply, "I memorized it."

Heero raised a dark brow.

Nichol blew a long breath through his lips. Miles of mud and biting bugs and flavorless food had brought him to this place. The terror of finding Tsubarov infiltrating their inner tents. The damage that man had done tricking their own people into distrusting Nichol, leaving the Lady unguarded, and Nichol's blind panic jumping between her and a second blow.

It was always the attack of a friend that undid OZ.

"She says," Nichol reported. "Yes."

^^^

When Hilde had given him the message, Nichol had laughed. "Is that an answer? And to what question?"

"He'll understand," Hilde had insisted with a smile. She had stood from her seat and wrapped her arms around his waist all the while mindful of his bandages.

"I don't know if you should be trusting one of the Gundam soldiers with even that much." Nichol had held very still but she had persisted to show her affection until he had accepted the gesture.

"Maybe he was truly your friend as well." Hilde had mentioned the _other_ traitor. "Don't start, I've heard all your complaining. But Trowa didn't hurt you did he? All it would have taken was discrediting you completely, but he didn't. And even you must admit that he fixed many of your early mistakes."

"Tricks," Nichol had found it hard to swallow.

"These lines we stay behind aren't really there," Hilde had spoken into his shirt. "All we have to do is reach across them and trust..."

"Don't be ridiculous." His tone had lost its edge. Somehow her prolonged embrace had thawed the portion of his heart he had much rather forget.

"Are you going to see her once more? You know, brother, that I'd only take you from her side for something of the most importance." Hilde had stepped back then. She had smiled at his blushing cheeks even while her eyes had shimmered. "Please see her one more time. It'll give her strength to reassure _you_."

^^^

Dorothy crossed her arms, "Does that mean something to you, Heero?"

"Almost too late, but not impossible," Quatre said, brightly. He grabbed Heero's shoulder taking the stiff figure of the soldier and shaking him as only a close friend would dare.

Heero had yet to blink. Nichol did, several times, and itched to understand Hilde's message and what it meant and why it had been so terribly important when everything else in the south had gone to hell.

"Y-yes," Heero repeated. He turned toward Quatre, then away again. Taking a step to the side, he balanced himself but put both hands over his face.

"I told you." Quatre vibrated with delight. "My heart knows. Yours did too, don't deny yourself this, friend."

Dorothy tilted her head and Nichol shrugged in reply.

"Will you..." Heero dropped his arms, one naturally falling to his sword. His eyes had changed and he looked nothing more than an eighteen year-old boy with a fancy coat of arms. "Will you take me back to her?"

"I wasn't instructed..." Nichol hesitated. "You're _hers_, you swore to her and she is not a friend to the South." He meant Relena, and could tell that Heero understood.

"I must go to Hilde, somehow," Heero spoke to himself.

"You will go as a friend to the south," a new voice spoke. Nichol wondered how long it had been. How it could be that Trowa Barton had been in the corner of the room unnoticed for so long. The man no one saw until he wanted to be seen.

Nichol gripped the short knife. His voice growled the taller man's name.

"So you remember him?" Dorothy accused, faux hurt in her words.

"Tomas Nichol was the only person in the south to identify me as a Gundam," Trowa stepped between Quatre and Heero. His lips quirked into a slight smile. "Although, you should learn how to leverage information instead of trying to shout it loudly in everyone's faces."

Nichol blushed. He had learned when to find proper circumstances in which to share knowledge since then, but the shame stayed full and fresh. He wanted to say, _But I_ trusted _you._

"You shouldn't go alone," Trowa told Heero. "And Dorothy, friend, could you come up with an excuse to keep the Princess from suspecting our Heero's escape?" he paused. "Well, buy us as much time as possible to resolve the matter."

A familiar surge of emotion choked Nichol into an audible sputter. Trowa always seemed to know more and now, again, he directed events by stepping out of the shadows.

"What about us?" Dorothy glanced at Quatre, concerned. "Her tempers fall on peasant and lord alike. If she decided to carve out the Winners..."

"Heero's oath to Relena is void if he marries," Trowa reasoned. To Heero, Trowa said, "Which was why it served to protect you from her so long. But she'll have to accept Hilde's answer. The question was issued before Relena was Princess. So you lose no honor."

"And gains the Schbeiker lineage," Nichol realized. What a union between Heero and Hilde could create became important. Their child could reconcile the two factions if circumstances walked the finest of lines.

Trowa's eyes crinkled at Nichol's outburst which made Nichol fluster his next words. He kept quiet while Quatre called servants to prepare for their journey.

The matter was out of his hands. Besides accompanying Heero and Trowa back to the southern camp, Nichol had no further role to play in the games of nobility. He would go back to the woman who took him into her family as a brother. And to Lady Une, who, he hoped beyond everything else, survived the attack. He could still hear Hilde's words, "They're all saying you saved her life. If you'd been only a little less clever that man might have had his way."

Nichol cheered somewhat. If he'd not been there, Tsubarov might have found Lady Une alone and completely unprotected. But Nichol had been.

"Don't chew that thought too long."

Nichol started to find Trowa Barton very close with his hand on Nichol's shoulder. Everyone else had gone into the hall without his notice.

"And why are you returning to the south, Trickster?" Nichol accused. "Don't think I won't watch your every move."

Trowa lifted his hand cautiously. He nodded. "Of course, friend. I wouldn't have it any other way."

Even though he stepped away, Trowa waited by the door.

Nichol considered the other man for a moment. But his thoughts returned to the ludicrous notion that such a slim hope could reconcile anything. That two people, ordinary and in love, would risk their lives and child to, possibly, gain peace.

"It's a long gamble," Nichol said.

"Indeed," replied the other.

"We," Nichol hesitated. "The two of us could probably make sure they pull it off."

Trowa changed his posture as if a great weight had fallen from his shoulders.

"Most likely the _only ones_." Nichol liked the sound of self-praise. It had been a while.

"And Dorothy," Trowa added. "Oh, I thought you liked Dorothy..."

"I'm not sure what Quatre would say." Nichol left then, knocking Trowa shoulder with his own. "Why do you always bring a woman between us?"


End file.
